


Teaching him to be Human.

by Gingerbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingerbatch/pseuds/Gingerbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An eventual Johnlock. Sherlock struggles to understand his emotions, John feels it's his job to teach Sherlock how to be human, but of course he would never tell Sherlock that, He want's to teach Sherlock to let him in . Sherlock fights within himself to comprehend his feelings, turning back to his old drug addiction to calm him. (I do not own these characters, property of BBC)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started out on Fanfiction.net and has done well there, so I thought I would see what you guys think here. I really appreciate comments and feedback :)

Chapter 1 -

Sherlock winced as he heard the word. It sliced through his heart like a knife, but he would not let anyone know that it hurt him. Usually he would respond with something quick witted, but today he just didn't have the energy to waste.

'Hey freak, I'm talking to you' Anderson spat at Sherlock. That word, again. Sherlock's chest sank, his jaw clenched. He did so much for these idiots; the least they could do is treat him with a bit of respect. He was not a freak or a psychopath. It wasn't his fault that they were all stupid and threatened by his intelligence. He sighed and looked at John beside him. He noticed John's stance, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes closed and head turned away from Anderson. He was clearly fuming.

'Don't call him that, ever again, I am sick to death of you treating him like shit!' John growled.

'John, calm down.' Sherlock said reassuringly, he didn't care if Anderson upset him, but he didn't want John to be upset.

'No Sherlock! You're an asshole Anderson!' John snapped.

Anderson stepped back, raising his hands defensively.

'You only believe he's not a freak because the prick is shagging you. He'll get what he wants out of you John, and then he'll leave y-'Anderson retorted, before receiving a cheek full of John's fist. He fell to the floor, clutching his face. Lestrade rose from his desk, his chair squeaking as it scraped the floor. John was furious, he was used to the gay remarks and it didn't bother him too much, they were mostly little jokes by Mrs Hudson or Mycroft and he'd usually just swiftly brush them off and forget about it, but this time it was used so derogatorily. As if it would be a terrible thing if he and Sherlock were an intimate couple. Not that they were, at least from John's point of view. He was heterosexual, though he had to reassure himself of that far too often.

'Okay that's enough, Anderson get out of here.' Lestrade said angrily, pointing towards the door. Anderson looked at Lestrade, shocked and then glared at John he got up from the floor and left the room. John glared right back, then shook his head and smiled up at Sherlock. Sherlock looked down at his blogger, who had once again, defended him. He was still shocked that John had actually hit Anderson. He didn't think he was worth that much effort, but he still felt humbled that John cared so much.

'Don't pay mind to him Sherlock, he's an idiot.' John said, and then returned his attention to Lestrade. 'You were saying?'

Lestrade sighed. 'Look John, Sherlock, I know it's not fair for them to call you that, you do a hell of a lot for us, but John I can't have you beating up my squad every time they tease Sherlock. I've talked to Anderson about it but I'll try again, maybe this time he'll listen, now that he's gotten a cheek-full.'

John sighed, Sherlock looked at his feet for a moment before straightening himself up.

'Give me all the available information.' Sherlock said to Lestrade.

John and Sherlock left New Scotland Yard a short while later, ignoring the vicious glares from Anderson and his buddies. John got them a cab and they headed back to Baker Street in silence. John knew Sherlock was upset, it wasn't like him to be so quiet after receiving a case. He was unsure whether to try to comfort Sherlock, so he sat, looking out the window, watching the streets pass them by. A few moments passed when John felt warmth cover his hand and looked down. Sherlock had placed his hand on John's, the one he'd used to biff Anderson. John was shocked by the sudden act of affection from Sherlock, these moments were so rare with him, but they reminded John that Sherlock was worth the effort and he really did care for John, as much as John did for Sherlock. Sherlock could sometimes make john feel like a piece of furniture and treat him like his butler, and john often forgot that he was human and did have emotions. He just wasn't good at expressing them. John felt like his job was to teach Sherlock how to be human, but of course he would never tell Sherlock that. He looked up at Sherlock, who was looking out the window on his side of the cab.

'Does it hurt?' Sherlock mumbled.

'No Sherlock its fine, I'm fine. I'm happy to have a sore hand if it means shutting Anderson up, the git.'

Sherlock looked and him and John chuckled, but stopped when he saw Sherlock's expression. He looked so serious, as always, but there was something else that John couldn't quite figure out. He hoped that it was some form of appreciation, but he could never be certain with Sherlock when it came to his emotions.

'Really Sherlock, it's okay.' He smiled.

'Thank you John.' Sherlock said simply, as the cab pulled up at Baker Street. Sherlock moved his hand quickly from John's as the cabbie turned his head to ask for his payment. Sherlock paid him and the pair headed inside their flat. Sherlock flopped down on the couch, pursing his hands to his lips. He heard john exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Hudson before heading up the stairs. John went straight for the kitchen, he needed tea. He always had tea when they came home.

'Tea, Sherlock?' John asked.

'No. Not now John.' Sherlock said.

John continued to make his tea and shuffle about the flat, all the while Sherlock watched him from the corner of his eye. A flood of emotions were over-clouding Sherlock's mind, and he was finding it extremely difficult to interpret them, which he hated. John knelt down in front of Sherlock.

'Sherlock are you sure you're okay?' John asked him, a worried tone to his voice.

Sherlock's heart fluttered at the sudden close contact. Confused, he replied. 'Yes John I am fine.' He paused. 'I'm used to being called a freak.'

'That doesn't make it okay Sherlock. I know it hurts you, it would hurt anybody.'

Sherlock turned his head to look at the doctor. He looked concerned. Sherlock's heart warmed. He felt fluttery again, but fought with himself to make it go away. He didn't understand the feeling and he didn't like it. It was clouding his judgement. John's brow furrowed as he waited for an answer, but for once Sherlock didn't have answer for him. He should be going over the case notes and evidence, not lying here wondering why he felt all fluttery and why John was so bloody worried about him. He sat up abruptly, got off the couch and strode to his room, leaving John still squatting before the couch.

'I need to start on this case. Thank you for your concern John but I assure you I am fine. I will let you know if your assistance is needed.' He closed the door without waiting for an answer.

John sighed and picked himself up off the floor. He really wanted to help Sherlock, but it was so hard for him to do that without Sherlock letting him in on how he was feeling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that there is a bit of drug use in this chapter.

Sherlock lay in the comforting darkness of his bedroom, fighting with his mind over the events of the day, the new emotions he had felt. He was annoyed at himself. He hadn't even looked at the information given to him by Lestrade, which was completely not like him, but he could not concentrate. There was too much conflict raging in his mind, that he couldn't even access his Mind Palace. What were these strange, annoying feelings, and why was he having them? He tried to figure them out over and over, but couldn't.

He found himself smiling as he remembered the warmth of John's hand beneath his in the cab. His breathing quickened, he felt restless and anxious, but he could not determine the cause. This of course, only frustrated him further. He jolted upright and clapped his hands over his face, the memory of John's touch playing over and over in his mind. Why had he put his hand on John's? Why would a person normally do that? He assumed as a gesture of reassurance, or affection even. Was it affection he was feeling for John, or his appreciation for his defence against Anderson? Sherlock furrowed his brow. He tried so hard to close all these emotions out, but with John, he kept slipping up, he'd been acting so... human. He shuddered at the notion of him having such common feelings, that he'd never known, or rather repressed himself from for so long. He paused suddenly, panicked. Did his sudden flash of emotion scare John? What if it did?

'Stupid, you're stupid Sherlock!' his mind shouted.

What if he had made John uncomfortable? He stood quickly and slammed his door open. A very shocked looking John sat in his armchair, laptop perched on his knees. He'd just jumped about a foot in the air.

'Bloody hell Sherlock!' John shouted, he'd scared him half to death!

'John'

'Yes?'

'Are you... okay?' He hated using such a common term, but he couldn't think of anything else.

John's brow crinkled.

'Umm y-yes Sherlock, I'm fine.' He answered, he was so out of it, that's what he was. John's gaze turned to Sherlock's chest, then to his feet.

'Sherlock'

'John?'

'You're... You're not wearing a shirt... or your trousers.'

Sherlock looked down. He had been so occupied in his thoughts that he's come out of his room wearing only his boxer shorts and slippers.

'Oh' he said, looking at his shorts, his favourite pair, the black ones with little white question marks all over them. He crinkled his nose at his idiocy. John cleared his throat. Sherlock looked back up at his. John's eyebrows were raised, he looked baffled, he was waiting for Sherlock to say something. Sherlock shook his head.

'But you're fine, aren't you John?' He asked again.

'Y-yes'

'Good.'

'Why-'

Sherlock slammed the door once again, leaving John sitting again, incredibly confused and bewildered, his mouth opening and closing in confusion for a few moments. 'What the bloody hell had got Sherlock worked up like that?' He wondered to himself, taking a sip of his tea. He moaned happily at the warmth the tea bought to his chest. 'Whatever it was, it must have really had him thinking, to forget his clothes like that.' John thought, as an image of Sherlock's lean, pale frame standing in the doorway flashed before him. John's heart skipped a beat. He paused, then cleared his throat, shook his head and set his tea down and continued typing at his laptop. He really needed to get a girlfriend, soon.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!' Sherlock spat as he smacked his palm repeatedly against his forehead. What was he thinking – no... That was the problem, he wasn't thinking clearly. 'You never not think!' Sherlock scrunched his hands into his soft black curls and tugged in frustration. What was happening to him? He groaned and flopped back down onto his bed. He lay still for a while, trying desperately to calm his mind. A strong, persistent nagging at the back of his mind and throat called to him. He needed a cigarette, so very badly, something or anything to calm him. He sat up and pulled on a loose shirt before searching his bedroom for something, anything that he could use. He found his Nicotine patch box, excitedly; he pulled the packet open, empty. He moaned, tossed the box aside and kept looking. He knew he had an emergency cigarette hidden in here from John and Mrs Hudson somewhere, or had he used that one? He threw himself to the floor in frustration and began to sweep his hands under the bed in his search. His hand brushed something, a small box. He pulled it out and held it in his hands looking it over, He couldn't believe it, he's thought he'd lost this ages ago. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't, no he wouldn't. He's promised himself he would never again and John would see, and he's be mad, he didn't want to upset John. He sat on the end of his bed, the little box still in his hands. The craving pulled at the back of his mind and his heart continued to beat heavily. He breathed in sharply, his mind still racing with thoughts and scenes that he couldn't understand. Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore; he wanted to, no he had to shut himself up! He opened the box and pulled it out, turning it over between his fingers, held it up to the dim lamp light and flicked the side, pulled the cap off. 'Don't Sherlock!' A voice in his mind pleaded to him, but it was quickly overcrowded and drowned out by the other voices all grappling and fighting over each other in his mind.

'Shut up!' He snarled, as he felt the old, but familiar sting bite his arm. His heart rate slowed, his mind began to mellow. His arms... he couldn't feel them, or his legs. 'Shit...' he thought, as everything began to topple sideways, before going black.

John jumped as he heard it. A loud thud came from Sherlock's room, he waited a moment. He was most likely just doing one of his little experiments. Usually a noise like that would bring a head of black curls bobbing out the door to briefly mumble and apology before slipping back in, but this time, it didn't. John closed his laptop and placed it on the floor. He got up and walked to Sherlock's door. He knocked once, no response.

'Sherlock, Are you okay?' He asked. 'Maybe he fell out of bed?' he pondered. He assured himself that Sherlock was fine and began to walk away from the door, but something at the back of his mind stopped him. Something was wrong, Sherlock wouldn't be sleeping, he had a case to be working on, and he wouldn't sleep properly until he solved it. John shuffled back to the door and opened it. He scanned the room, but couldn't see Sherlock. His heart stopped the moment he laid eyes on the body lying on the floor at the foot of Sherlock's bed, convulsing.

'Sherlock!'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am by no means an expert on drugs, their delivery, side affects etc. But I have tried my best to deliver what I think is right from the research I've done. Please keep this in mind when reading in case I haven't got something right.

'Mycroft!' Sherlock shouted into the darkness as he sat up in bed. He heard a disgruntled snort of life beside him and his bedside table lamp flicked on, revealing an exhausted looking John sitting in a chair beside his bed.

'Sherlock... oh thank god.' John let out a sigh of relief, and then yawned and stretched his back.

Sherlock sat squinting at John. He could feel sweat rolling down his forehead, a horrible feeling swirled in his gut. He wanted to talk, to understand what was happening, but no sentences were forming in his mind. He felt somewhat relieved.

'John...' he mumbled.

John stood up and placed the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock heard him click his tongue before heading to the dresser and returned with a clean t-shirt. Sherlock looked at him confused, still squinting, completely vacant.

'Your clothes are drenched Sherlock, you need to change.' John said quietly. Sherlock sat, blinking at him. John looked exhausted, but that was all that Sherlock was able to deduce from him at present.

John was going mad with worry. He'd never seen Sherlock like this; a hollow shell of the man he knew sat before him, blinking up at him, no signs of full consciousness besides these minor actions. He was still completely out of it and obviously wasn't completely awake, the effects were still wearing off. John moved to the edge of the bed, and put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. He'd dealt with this type of situation before.

'Sherlock, I am going to take your shirt off now, okay? Then I am going to put this clean one on, so that you'll be comfortable.' John said calmly. Sherlock stared at him, and then nodded slowly. John carefully, slowly pulled Sherlock's arms from his current shirt and pulled it over his head. The shirt was drenched. John reached for the chair he'd brought in to keep an eye on Sherlock and pulled a small towel from one of its arms. He slowly dried Sherlock's chest, forehead and arms. John was glad that Sherlock would most likely not remember this, it would embarrass Sherlock and hurt his pride something fierce, and as a result John would have to work hard to rebuild the emotional bridges that Sherlock had slowly been allowing him to cross. He pulled the clean shirt over Sherlock's head and bought his arms back through. John helped Sherlock to have a drink of water, and then carefully laid him back down.

'You'll be okay soon Sherlock.' John said soothingly, as he pushed back a mess of black curls from Sherlock's forehead. He slumped himself back down in the chair beside the bed. Sherlock slowly nodded to John, then closed his eyes. He was out again, completely asleep. John sighed. He looked at the man he usually knew to be so proud and smart, lying there helpless from something he'd idiotically brought upon himself. John of course was absolutely furious with Sherlock for hurting himself, but he wouldn't talk to him about it until he was better.

John turned out the lamp light and rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. So many questions were forming in his mind. Why had Sherlock been so anxious, that it led him to this? How did he think that this would help him? Why hadn't he just talked to John about it instead of doing something so stupid? Why had he yelled for Mycroft? John knew Sherlock had a history with drugs, it had been made obvious to him several times now, firstly the night that the flat was given a fake drugs search by Lestrade, which had worked Sherlock up immensely. It was also obvious to John from a doctor's point of view. He knew of addictions, and he knew the little signs when someone who smoked cigarettes and craved them so desperately had a past with more intense recreational drugs. But the most obvious to him had stood out when he'd picked Sherlock's convulsing body up off the floor and placed him on the bed. In the same area where the current needle had been injected, John had noticed track marks on Sherlock's pale skin. The reality of Sherlock's past traumas was so openly visible to him now.

He'd had to deal with Sherlock's seizure as calmly and professionally as he could, which was not an easy task with Mrs Hudson sobbing and screeching beside him, trying to hold down one side of Sherlock for John as he injected him with an anticonvulsant which he'd had in a very well supplied first aid kit he kept in the flat. (He never knew what Sherlock would do next and he would need emergency first-aid of some kind) Mrs Hudson had been sobbing and moaning the whole time.

'Sherlock, my Sherlock what have you done?' She'd cried over and over as the convulsions in Sherlock's body began to slow. She sat holding his hand and stroking his hair. She had stayed with John by Sherlock's side for most of the night, before John was finally able to convince her that Sherlock would be okay. John had taken her down to bed and shortly after he'd come back up was when Sherlock woke for the first time, just now.

John knew after seeing the marks, that Sherlock's past was serious, and why Sherlock always had his arms covered. He wanted now, more than ever to break through to Sherlock, to help him and to be there for him, to avoid this ever happening to him again. 'He must be so depressed.' John thought. 'Why would someone with so much personality disrespect themselves so badly?' He felt a hot tear roll down his cheek and drip delicately onto his jumper. He was going to find the answers to these questions, and protect Sherlock from himself. He soon allowed himself to drift into a light sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock blinked as his vision slowly un-blurred. He was still in his bed, by the look of the light in the room it was around mid-day. He yawned and turned to see John slumped over in a chair beside him, fast asleep. 'What is John doing in here?' He wondered, confused. He winced as he felt a small sting in his arm, and memories of the night before began to flash before him. The barrage of thoughts that had been driving him mental, the craving for a release to calm his mind, the needle, blackness, all played for him. Sherlock thought hard, it must have been something to do with the drugs, but he'd never had a reaction to this extent before, so surely that wasn't the case. Sherlock's heart raced, he panicked. Why had he been so stupid? He should have done something else to calm himself down, but he had been so irrationalised by all of the conflicting emotions that he'd just needed a desperate escape, and he'd taken the only one he could find at the time. John was going to be upset with him, Mycroft was...

'Shit! Mycroft!' He thought suddenly. Had John told Mycroft? That would be bad, very bad for both of them. He looked John over. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but other than that obvious fact Sherlock couldn't deduced anything else. He looked more carefully at Johns face, his eyes. John's eyes seemed to be a bit puffy. It could just be from exhaustion, but another thought crossed Sherlock's mind. Had John been crying? For him? Sherlock's heart warmed. 'No, stupid, of course he wasn't.'He quickly assured himself and continued to study John. John looked so peaceful when he slept. Sherlock had often watched him sleeping, trying to deduce what the man was dreaming about, to no avail, but today it somehow looked different to him. Sherlock tentatively reached out a slender hand and held the tips of John's fingers in his. He lay like this for a few moments, simply absorbing John's touch. Sherlock tried to stop himself from thinking too much and instead focused on what he was feeling. He managed to deduce calm, warm, happy and safe, all feelings that were almost completely alien to him.

John suddenly snorted awake and lifted his head quickly, blinking rapidly, Sherlock's hand whipped back to the bed before John could notice.

'Sherlock, how are you feeling?' John mumbled sleepily.

'I am not sure yet John, I'm a bit fuzzy on what actually happened.' He didn't know how much John had actually seen or knew of what had happened to him.

John stared at him for a moment and then sighed.

'You had a seizure Sherlock. The only reason you're not in a damn hospital is because I know that you would make my life hell as payback for putting you in one, luckily I know what I'm doing.' John said, his voice short. Sherlock detected an edge of anger to his tone. He didn't care if John ripped him to pieces for this, he felt like he deserved it, for upsetting John so badly. This confused Sherlock, because usually in a situation like this he would have just told whoever it was that found him to sod off, that it was his body and he'd do what he liked, but not John. Sherlock was changing ever so slowly for John, and he couldn't understand it or comprehend why, but he was slowly starting to let himself accept that he could change, but only for this man. For the moment though, until he had figured it out himself, he would pretend as if everything were normal, even given the current circumstances of last night's actions.

'You're damn right I would.' He mumbled.

'Why Sherlock?'

'Because I can't stand the idea of being-'

'Not why about hospitals! Why did you do it?!' John shouted impatiently.

Sherlock looked at John.

'Artificial stimulants occupy my brain, I craved mental exaltation John. My mind wouldn't shut up, so I had to calm it down.' He didn't want to explain to John the types of thoughts he'd been having. Not yet, it was too soon.

'I don't understand why it led to a seizure though, it's never happened before.' He pondered. He knew cocaine could be unpredictable but of course he didn't believe that his body would betray him in such a common, human way. He himself sometimes forgot that he actually was human, that his mind and body had limits, and often pushed himself that one step too far. But it had always excited him to see just how far he could go.

John decided to pretend he didn't know about Sherlock's history of drugs, to try and get more understanding of Sherlock's past and hopefully urge him to talk about it.

'You've done this before?' He asked.

'Yes. Many times, mostly when I was younger, see?' Sherlock pointed to his arms, the track marks of needles a clear indicator of the history of a drug relationship. Sherlock figured there was absolutely no point in him being short with John about this now he had seen it firsthand.

John winced slightly and sighed.

'You scared Mrs Hudson half to death, the poor woman. She was here with me for most of the night before I finally convinced her you would be okay.' John tried to change the blunt severity that Sherlock had bought to the conversation.

'I'm sorry John.' Sherlock said. The pair sat in silence for a moment. That was all Sherlock could say to him? It wasn't good enough, John thought. He needed to know why someone as intelligent as Sherlock would succumb to something so bad for him.

'Why would you willingly destroy yourself?' John asked, he was trying so desperately to understand. He needed an answer from Sherlock. He didn't think he would get one, but he had to try.

'Please Sherlock; let me in, just this once, it's important to me.' He whispered, looking away from him. He wanted to comprehend the monster that was Sherlock's addiction and his past.

Sherlock sighed. He might as well tell John now, he couldn't pretend anymore like he'd initially wanted to, he still thought it was too soon, but he had to try for John. It was the first time that anyone had taken an interest in something so personal to Sherlock; he figured he would try to let something out. If anyone could understand, he felt it would be his blogger.

'There are many reasons John, my past is too complicated to just let out, but all of my reasons relate back to me simply craving an escape from my dull excuse of an existence.' He said. His voice sounded so hollow, so sad. He'd opened a gate of barricaded emotion now, and he wasn't going to stop them from flowing out, he couldn't build his wall any higher, and these emotions were unable to be deleted from his hard drive.

'I never feared the consequences John. After all, who would have noticed if I'd gone? Nobody, because I'm just the freak, the psychopath genius with the brain that everyone wants a piece of, but that's all they want John, my opinion, my deductions, not me! Nobody gives a shit about the man behind the brain!' He said, sharply, his eyes tightly shut, his hands tugging his hair. A choking sob escaped his throat suddenly. John leaped forward to the edge of the bed and put a hand on Sherlock's back, and one on his knee. Sherlock was scared, confused, angry, but happy all at the same time. The sudden mixtures of emotions were overwhelming his mind, and his body, John's attention and touch of support urged him to go on.

'I've never belonged anywhere or to anyone, not even to myself! What kind of a life am I living, not even being able to understand my own emotions! I've always thought them to be useless and pushed them away to focus on the more important things, the cases, the work are all that matter, because emotions get in the way, they hurt you and confuse you and there is nobody to help me.'

John was shocked. Sherlock was actually letting him in, but more importantly, he was letting himself in on what he had been hiding away from himself for so long. Sherlock sniffed, John could tell he was trying to control his body. He was embarrassed to cry in front of John, to look so weak and... human but John could never think Sherlock weak, he as the strongest person that John had ever known.

Sherlock straightened himself up and John sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

'But then you came along John, and I couldn't block away the emotions, and the thoughts. They broke down my barricades.' Sherlock sniffed again, wiped his eyes, and flicked his hair back.

'I know it's hard to tell how mixed up you feel, everyone has emotion Sherlock and you are human after all. I truly understand, I really do, and I am here for you while you try to work yourself out, okay? I'm not going to ask you for anymore now or you'll exhaust yourself, thank you for sharing this with me, I will help you.' John assured him. He wasn't sure what Sherlock meant about him being the reasons for his emotions, but he didn't want to push his luck, he'd just gotten so much from him and this information was a rare, precious moment. One of the moment's that made everything he had to put up with, with Sherlock worth it.

Sherlock was embarrassed, humiliated. His whole persona had just come crashing down in front of John, everything he'd built himself up to be gone within an instant. He wanted to end the awkwardness.

'Am I going to be alright John? Physically I mean. The drugs obviously didn't do any damage.' He said to John, changing the subject.

'There's no safe frequency of use for cocaine Sherlock, even occasional users run the risks involved and seizures can be completely random, but I think you know this, don't you?' John replied. He was happy to move on; he would approach the subject of Sherlock's feelings again later, when Sherlock was ready.

Of course Sherlock knew, but he never wanted to believe it. He wasn't normal in many ways so he had never expected his body to act normally to something he'd used so often in the past. He chuckled and looked up at John.

'Of course, but thank you John. I think I would like to get up and shower now, if you don't mind.' He said.

'Yes! That is probably the best thing for you at the moment' John got up off the bed and headed for the door.

'I'll be in the lounge if you need anything.' He said.

Sherlock nodded as John closed the door behind him. He sighed and slid his legs out of the bed. Maybe he could learn to understand his emotions now, with John's help. He stood up and got some clothes from his dresser to change into, and noticed in the mirror that he was wearing a different shirt than the one he'd worn yesterday. John had changed it for him. Sherlock smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Mrs Hudson sat at her kitchen table, holding a cup of hot tea in her hands. She was exhausted after last night; she hadn't slept a wink from worrying about Sherlock. Seeing him like that had made her very upset. She had only just gotten up herself, but she soon heard signs of life stirring in the flat from upstairs. She wanted to go and check on them, but she thought that she should give the boys a bit of space, if something was wrong she knew that John would have come to tell her.

Mrs Hudson was so worried about Sherlock, and so upset that he had abused himself in such a way. She wanted to tell him off, to tell him how stupid he is for stooping to that level and making her worry so much. She knew though that Sherlock wouldn't understand her concerns and brush them off assuring her that he was fine. She decided that she wouldn't fuss over him too much and just talk to John about it on the side instead, she didn't want to make Sherlock angry or embarrassed, but she wanted so desperately to fuss over him and make sure that he was alright.

She heard the shower turn on upstairs and she could hear John fussing over Sherlock, telling him to be careful, Sherlock snapping back at him, being stubborn about accepting help. She smiled, relieved it sounded as though Sherlock was recovering. Mrs Hudson took a sip of her tea and pondered about the boys. She was so happy that Sherlock had John, before John he had always been bitter, but Mrs Hudson had noticed a huge change in Sherlock since they met, and she was awfully grateful for it. She had always cared for Sherlock, like he was her own son and worried about him constantly, but she knew that she couldn't get too close, or Sherlock would block her out completely.

John had come to her at times to talk about it when Sherlock was being particularly hard to deal with and Mrs Hudson had listened and offered the advice she could from what she had learnt from living with Sherlock. She was glad that Sherlock was finally letting someone in, but she worried that John didn't exactly share the feelings that she knew Sherlock had for John. Even if Sherlock didn't realise them yet, Mrs Hudson had known the day Sherlock bought John home, he was smitten. She hoped that John would understand if Sherlock were to realise and tell him, but either way she knew she would be here for both of her boys. John had become just as much hers as Sherlock now.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the shrill ring of her telephone. She put her tea down and shuffled over to it.

'Hello?' She asked politely.

'Mrs Hudson I assume, this is Mycroft Holmes. I am sorry to bother you but I was hoping that you could fill me in on my brothers recent activities.' A pompous, self assured voice responded at the end of the line. Mrs Hudson wasn't exactly sure what he meant, would Sherlock want Mycroft to know about last night?

'I'm not sure what you mean dear.' She said.

'Neither he nor Dr. Watson are answering their mobile phones, I need to speak with Sherlock and usually that can be easily done via John, but not today.' Mrs Hudson didn't like Mycroft, she thought he was mean to Sherlock and saw him as a bit of a bully, but she couldn't judge too much as she didn't know him very well, so she was always polite. Mycroft was Sherlock's brother after all, and Mrs Hudson decided he deserved to know about Sherlock's accident.

'Sherlock had an accident last night dear, but John took care of him and I think he is recovering today. That is why they aren't answering your calls.' She said.

'An accident? What kind of accident Mrs Hudson?'

Mrs Hudson was quiet for a moment, she wasn't sure how much she should tell Mycroft, but she figured he was going to find out anyway. She hoped that Sherlock wouldn't be mad at her.

'He had a little accident with some drugs and had a bit of... a bit of a fit.'

She waited for a response, but only silence followed.

'Hello, are you still there?' she asked.

'Very well, thank you Mrs Hudson.' He stated, followed by a loud click and the beeping tone of an ended call. Mrs Hudson looked at the phone in her hand and worried about Mycroft's reaction. She decided that she had better tell Sherlock straight away, before he heard from Mycroft first, so she headed up stairs. John was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. She approached him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'How are you dear?' She asked.

John looked up at her and smiled weakly.

'I'm okay Mrs Hudson, just worried about him, that's all.'

'I know love, so am I.' She responded sadly.

Their heads turned as they heard the shower turn off, and a loud thump came from the bathroom.

'Sherlock!' John yelled as he got up from the table and ran to the door.

'Are you alright?!' he shouted at it.

'John... I... I am having a bit of trouble standing up.' Sherlock replied.

'I'm coming in.'

'John, wait!' Sherlock yelled, as John entered the bathroom. Sherlock was on the floor of the shower, his knees pulled up to his chest, naked. John blushed and grabbed a towel, then put it over him. Sherlock looked away embarrassed.

'Hey Sherlock, don't worry its okay, nothing I haven't seen before, I'm a doctor remember?'He said reassuringly.

'Don't look.' He mumbled. John nodded before helping Sherlock up. He turned around as Sherlock placed the towel around his waist, still holing tightly onto John with one hand. John helped him back to his bedroom, where Mrs Hudson had quickly straightened up the bed for him. John eased Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bed and got some clothes for him. He knew that Sherlock would be embarrassed, so he left him to dress and took Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson pulled John to the side.

'I came up here to tell you something love, Mycroft just called, he was trying to get hold of you two.' She said.

'Mycroft?!' They both heard a stumble from behind them and Sherlock appeared in the doorway, at least he had dressed. John turned quickly.

'Back to bed, right now Sherlock! Do you want to fall again?' He snapped.

'But John I –'

'Bed!' John yelled, pointing to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock scowled then turned and walked slowly back to his bed. Mrs Hudson explained her conversation with Mycroft to John, they both heard Sherlock moan loudly at the news.

'You two have no idea how bad this is!' He yelled from the bedroom. John and Mrs Hudson looked at each other, confused.

Mycroft Holmes sat, brooding at his desk. He was not happy, learning about the current circumstances of his brother's situation. 'The bloody idiot!' He thought angrily. He sighed, and put his head in his hands. His brother was a very disturbed man, Mycroft had always known that, but he was a genius, and it was because of this that his problem with drugs had begun. He had so much intellect, yet completely lacked the skills to socialize and understand emotion. He didn't understand that his deductions, though true, were sometimes bluntly harsh, and people had always reacted emotionally to his deductions, calling him a 'freak' and a 'psychopath' to make themselves feel better after having their deepest truths revealed by Sherlock. This always deeply confused Sherlock, he had simply told the truth and Mycroft had to watch him fight himself constantly as a teenager, tearing himself up inside as he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with him, he was just different, and because of it Sherlock had not had an easy childhood, and it was always Mycroft who had to look out for him and clean up his messes. He had been there many a time after finding Sherlock flying high after taking any substances he was able to get hold of, just to save him from himself. He would often scream to Mycroft 'It's not my fault that I am this way, do you think I want to be like this? Why can't they see, I hate it!' It hurt Mycroft to see his brother abuse himself in such a way, but also because he knew how disturbed and depressed his genius brother really was.

Sherlock loathed Mycroft, because from his point of view Mycroft was just bullying him, telling him what he could and couldn't do with his body. This wasn't the case, Mycroft had always worried so much for Sherlock and had always tried his hardest to help him, but Sherlock had been deeply troubled and wouldn't let Mycroft in. Mycroft had left home as soon as he was able, leaving Sherlock on his own. A decision which he has always regretted, for as soon as Mycroft left them, Sherlock only spiralled down deeper into his madness.

He had changed as he became an adult, quietly accepting his intelligence and creating a harsh speaking but brilliant genius persona, which everyone needed to have around, yet hated. Mycroft had seen this persona consume Sherlock, as he buried any emotion he had even deeper away, in order to only deal with the intellectual side of his brain, with nothing to get in the way of his work. He knew Sherlock was an unhappy man, but he seemed to live a satisfactory life with the persona that was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.

Nobody but he knew Sherlock's true condition, though he had noticed slight changes in Sherlock's personality since the arrival of John Watson. Mycroft desperately hoped that he would be the answer Sherlock had been so hopelessly searching for his entire life, and lead him to reveal and understand his true self. The one who could teach him to be human, as Mycroft had tried so many times, and break down the walls of his controlling persona.

He sighed again and rubbed his temples. He knew what had to come of this situation. He had to stick to his word, he warned Sherlock the last time he'd found out about him taking drugs again. Sherlock had reluctantly accepted, thinking that he was too clever for Mycroft to ever find out again, but for Sherlock's intelligence he lacked social skills, and had obviously not made those close in his life aware of his past, hence Mrs Hudson being so easily able to reveal to him that he had relapsed once again. Mycroft rose from his desk and grabbed his umbrella on his way out the door. It was time to get this issue resolved, he was going to collect his dear brother, and admit him into a rehabilitation centre, so that he could get the help he needed but had refused his entire life. He would look the like the bad person to everybody else, as he always had, but he felt it had to be done. He chuckled to himself, arguing this one with John Watson was going to be a challenge.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was panicking, Mycroft knew, he would be on his way this very moment. His heart and mind raced.

'Mrs Hudson!' He yelled. The pained expression on her face made it look like Mrs Hudson had just taken a blow to the gut. She looked down and put her head into her hands.

'I'm sorry Sherlock, I didn't know ...' She whimpered.

'Just get out!' Sherlock screamed at her, pointing towards the door. Mrs Hudson nodded sadly and left the flat. John began to go after her.

'This is bad John, very bad.' Sherlock called after him.

John spun on his heel. 'Why is it such a terrible thing if your brother knows Sherlock? If anyone should know it's your family for crying out loud! It isn't Mrs Hudson's fault, it's your own stupid fault for taking the bloody drugs in the first place you idiot!' John was fuming; he was beginning to come to his wits end with Sherlock and his mood swings. Sherlock had come to his bedroom door again, and he stood looking at John with sad eyes.

'You don't understand John.' He said quietly.

'Then make me understand Sherlock, talk to me.' John said. He was worried about Mrs Hudson but figured that she had probably had Sherlock react this way before; he would make her some tea after he settled Sherlock down.

'Mycroft is going to-'Sherlock tried to say, before his head dropped and his knees began to buckle underneath him. He was white as a sheet. John rushed to his side and put his arm around him and took him back to the bed.

'Mycroft is what Sherlock?' John asked him quietly. Sherlock slumped his head against his pillow and rubbed his brow. He sighed.

'I promised Mycroft that this wouldn't happen again. If he ever found out I'd done it again he would rehabilitate me, I gave him my word.' Sherlock said, his voice a low grumble. John's heart sank. Didn't Mycroft realise that would be the worst possible thing to do to Sherlock? It would just make him worse, John knew it.

'I won't let that happen Sherlock, you're staying here, with me.' John smiled and put his hand on Sherlock's chest. Long slender fingers curled around his wrist. John's heart beat fast at the sudden touch from Sherlock. He was confused at his reaction.

'Thank you John.' Sherlock whispered, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. 'But somehow I don't think you'll be able to stop him.' He opened his eyes a looked up at John with a sad expression. John remembered Sherlock's cry for Mycroft the night before and thought now was as good a time as ever to bring it up.

'Last night... you woke up, and cried out for Mycroft. Do you remember?' John asked him. Sherlock looked embarrassed.

'No.'

'Why?' he said quietly.

'It doesn't matter John.'

'It does, would you just tell me please?'

Sherlock looked at him, John could tell that his pride was hurt from the events of the past 24 hours, but he had to know why it was Mycroft that Sherlock had called out for.

'It was always Mycroft John. Every time, it was him who would find me after doing... that...' he mumbled. 'He was the one who dealt with it. He was the one who was there. Mother pretended not to notice and Father was a drunk who would beat the hell out of me if he found out. He beat me for less. So that's why I shouted for him, it's hard wired in my brain to see Mycroft sitting beside me after taking artificial stimulants.'

John had no words. He had just gotten a very rare view into the childhoods of the Holmes brothers, and it wasn't a nice one. He felt sad that Sherlock had never had his parent's to rely on, but now knew that his trust issues and emotional barriers had a deep connection to his relationship with his parents. He never knew that their father had been violent. He felt angry at the thought of someone purposely hurting Sherlock. 'How had he and Mycroft become so distant after a childhood like that?' He wondered. He decided not to push the subject any further. He looked down at Sherlock, and saw a single tear running down his cheek. Sherlock realised that John had noticed, and quickly wiped it away, releasing John's wrist. John was heartbroken that his friend had had such a difficult life, someone as brilliant as he deserved so much more than that. John leant down and pulled Sherlock into a hard hug. He felt Sherlock stiffen beneath him at the sudden show of affection, but his body soon relaxed into John's embrace. 'I'm so sorry Sherlock' he whispered. Sherlock's heart began to race, his mind a flutter. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him this way, it felt so ... warm. John's strong body above his made him feel so many emotions that he didn't know how to feel. He breathed deeply, taking in every part of John he could from the embrace. He desperately wondered if it made John feel the same way as it did for him.

'Am I interrupting something?' A pompous voice chided from the doorway. John sat up quickly and turned, ready for a fight. He was not going to let Mycroft take Sherlock away. He needed to be here with him, where he was safe. Mycroft leant his umbrella against the door frame and moved towards the bed.

'You can't take him.' John said sternly.

'Oh he's told you of our arrangement? Well, I'm sorry John but that isn't your decision to make. Sherlock promised me and I have every intention of getting him the professional help that he so clearly needs.' Mycroft responded smugly.

'I don't bloody care you're not taking him –'

'Mycroft.' Sherlock said, his voice hard, but John could hear a slight shake to his usually arrogant tone. The two men arguing over him both looked in his direction. John knew Sherlock was scared, but he also knew he would try his hardest to not let Mycroft know that. 'Let me explain.' He said.

John waited impatiently in the kitchen while Sherlock talked to Mycroft in his bedroom. He had been preparing what he was going to say to Mycroft when he appeared from the bedroom, saying it to himself over and over in his head. He would not let him take Sherlock, not when he was finally beginning to slowly climb the walls that Sherlock had built around him, so very high and strong. It had taken John so long to get this far and he wasn't about to let that go. He heard Sherlock's door open and spun to see Mycroft walking out. He strode over to John and sat himself down at the kitchen table. John looked at him, dumbfounded. How did this man always look so bloody confident?

'John, please sit down' He gestured to the seat next to him. John gulped and sat down next to him. Mycroft looked at him and cleared his throat, obviously waiting for John to protest.

'Please Mycroft, don't do this. He needs me, I can help him.' John said with as much confidence as he could muster up. Mycroft was incredibly talented at making everyone around him feel like a bumbling fool. He braced himself as he waited to be shot down.

'I can see that.' He said. John looked at him, confused, shook his head.

'I'm sorry what did you just say?' He asked, he felt like an idiot but surely he had heard that wrong. Mycroft never agreed with anybody.

'I won't be taking him John. My brother is a hard man to interpret for most, but your presence has made a tremendous amount of difference to him in both good and bad ways. He needs to be able to trust someone John, and I am asking you to understand that. He needs you Dr. Watson, even more than you could know.'

John didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what Mycroft meant and he wondered how he was so significant to Sherlock. He never thought he would be of such importance in anyone's life, let alone Sherlock's. He had always felt like he was just there so that Sherlock had someone to run around London with him and help to pay the rent, but he had seen in the past few months, Sherlock did actually care for him and John wanted to help him learn how to show that. He had always felt so fiercely devoted to Sherlock, as he had never known a person such as him, and he wanted to be a part of his life always, if they hadn't met, John wasn't sure where he would be. Being Sherlock's friend bought with it to John's life a sense of belonging and a sense of purpose. John slowly nodded in response to Mycroft.

'I will take care of him.' He said simply.

'I do hope so, because after you I am out of ideas. Sherlock is a very hard man to help, mainly because he is too stubborn to accept it.'

'I wonder where he learnt that from?' John said smugly. Mycroft chuckled.

'I am trusting you John. After listening to his reasons I am feeling a bit generous and I am willing to let this time slide, but this is his last chance. I really do care for my brother, I know that is hard to believe after seeing the way we act around each other, but we have our reasons, and he will always be my brother.' John smiled at Mycroft. Mycroft cleared his throat in embarrassment.

'Well I should be off, let me know if you need any assistance.' He said.

'Say hello to the Queen for me brother!' They heard Sherlock shout from his bedroom. Mycroft shook his head, John chuckled but gave Mycroft a look of sympathy, and John watched as he headed out the door.

'Thank you Mycroft.' John said. Mycroft simply raised his brolly in acknowledgement and left the apartment.

Sherlock lay in his bed as John busied himself in the kitchen, he was fixing Sherlock some toast and was told that he was going to eat it, whether he liked it or not. Mrs Hudson was having tea in the kitchen with John. Sherlock had already apologised and Mrs Hudson had accepted so easily, it made Sherlock feel even guiltier for yelling at her, but he had simply nodded and headed back to his room. His mind went back to the surprising conversation he'd had with his brother. He had expected a fight, but Sherlock had told Mycroft everything, of his confusing emotions and that the craving stemmed from his need to calm his frantic mind. To Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft had sat listening to him, nodding as he spoke.

'You need to learn some more self control Sherlock. I can't tell you what any of this means or what you are feeling, but when you have figured it out you need to control it, don't get carried away again brother, this is your last chance.' He had replied. Sherlock nodded, bewildered that Mycroft had given in so easily.

'You are very lucky to have a friend like John Watson.' Mycroft had said as he left the room. Sherlock's heart warmed a little, he was lucky to have John, and he decided that he needed to start showing John that he knew that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a bit slow, but next chapter I think Sherlock will finally confront John about things, I just really want you guys to understand how hard it is for him to understand his feelings, and I don't want to just push them into a relationship.

Sherlock had been quiet in the days that followed Mycroft's visit. He had been unhappy with John, as he had called Lestrade and told him they would no longer be able to take the case he'd given them before Sherlock's accident. Sherlock wanted the case and was not impressed that John went behind his back to cancel it without asking him, but John wanted him to recover and take things slow for a while, while he tried to work himself out. Sherlock decided not to argue with him about it (too much) and instead tried to take things slowly.

Sherlock sat at his desk, his head in his hands. John was out buying groceries, so he was alone with his thoughts for a while. The past few days Sherlock had found himself thinking a great deal about his feelings. He hated it and it still seemed trivial and a waste of time to him, but he knew that if he didn't work it out he would do something stupid again. After hours of sorting through all the conflicting emotions he was feeling, he had finally narrowed it down to one. He couldn't say it out loud or even think about it however, as the idea scared him. He didn't know how to feel this emotion or what he was supposed to do with it. From what he had observed it usually came to people quite naturally, but it was different for him. It had begun to rain outside. Sherlock liked the rain, it made him feel like the world didn't always have to be bright and happy as both were feelings he had very rarely felt in his lifetime. He sighed, he needed to try and understand all of this another way. He looked down at his violin, leaning against the windowsill.

He rose from his desk, picked it up and stood at the window. Maybe his violin could understand what he was feeling. It had been too long since he'd played, and the weight of the instrument's body in his hands lifted his spirits a bit. Watching the droplets race down the glass pane, he started to play. Slowly, everything that worried him slipped away as his fingers portrayed his emotions through the slender instrument. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly began to understand, the music said it all. It was love. Love, he said the word over and over in his mind as he continued to play. He could think it, he could say it, now he just needed to learn how to feel it. He played for himself, he played for John and he played for love.

Sherlock didn't hear the front door open or John making his way up the stairs. All he could hear were his emotions, the ones that he'd buried so deep and hidden so well, so raw and visible in the sound, he was lost in the music as he played. John stopped as he reached the door to their flat. He heard Sherlock inside and didn't want to interrupt, he'd finally picked up his violin again and he didn't want him to know he was home, or the music would change, or stop altogether. He stood listening, dripping wet from the rain outside. He had never heard this side of Sherlock before. The music was so raw, and John wasn't sure how it made him feel. He looked inside at his friend and his heart stopped for a moment. Sherlock stood tall, his eyes were tightly shut as he played, his mouth open slightly. A tear rolled down his cheek and he choked in a sob as he continued to play. John continued to watch him; he had never seen Sherlock convey so much emotion. He slowly took a step inside the flat, trying to be quiet, but a floorboard creaked underneath his foot and Sherlock's eyes snapped open, the music stopped. John's heart sank, he'd ruined it. Sherlock quickly wiped away his tears and looked at John.

'You're wet.' He said.

'That's what happens when you walk in the rain.' John chuckled.

Sherlock nodded, then walked into the bathroom and came back holding a towel. He walked over to John and stood in front of him, placing the towel over his shoulders.

'Here.' He said quietly.

'Thank you.' John said, looking up at him, he smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded again and headed back over to his desk. He sat and watched John as he put the groceries away, set the kettle to boil and returned to the living room. He dried his hair with the towel and set it down, then turned away from Sherlock and began unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock looked away as he took it off and dried his chest and arms and hair again, but soon returned his gaze back to John as his curiosity got the better of him. His eyes were drawn to the scar of John's bullet wound. It looked quite red; Sherlock assumed it was because John was cold.

'Does it still hurt?' He asked. John turned to look at him; he cocked his head to the side.

'What?'

Sherlock responded by tapping his own shoulder. John looked at his.

'Oh. Yeah every now and then it plays up, especially when it is cold like today.'

Sherlock got up from his chair and walked over to John. He placed his hand over the scar and stood for a few moments. John looked down at Sherlock's hand confused by the act. Sherlock's hand felt warm though, which was nice, he was freezing.

'You're very cold.' Sherlock said, looking down at him. 'Would you like one of your jumpers?' he asked. John was shocked; Sherlock never asked if he needed anything.

'Yes that would be lovely' he nodded. Sherlock's hand dropped and he stalked off to John's room to retrieve a jumper for him. He returned with John's favourite one in hand, and held it to him. John smiled.

'This one is my favourite' He smiled.

'I know John.' Sherlock smiled back, he placed his hand back to John's scar for a moment and lightly traced it with his fingertips, then sighed and walked off to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him. John stood looking at Sherlock's bedroom door. Why had he touched his scar like that? He wasn't sure, so he pushed the thought aside for the moment, because besides that, John was beaming; Sherlock knew which jumper was his favourite. Such a small detail meant so much to John and he knew that they were finally starting to get somewhere with all of this.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock had been quiet again for most of the following evening. John had gone about his usual business, tidying up the flat and checking his blog. He had hoped that Sherlock would come out of his room and talk to him, as he was still wondering about the detective's peculiar actions that afternoon. After fussing about for a while, he'd eventually settled down in front of the TV for the night. His drowsiness soon got the better of him, as he drifted off into a soft sleep. He never slept heavily anymore, since the war, but he'd figured it had become an advantage for him, given Sherlock's current state. He could never be too cautious these days.

'John' a deep voice said, rousing him from his nap. He stretched and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

'I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake you.' Sherlock said. John looked up towards Sherlocks bedroom doorway, where he stood waiting for John's response.

'It's okay Sherlock, I was just having a little power nap. Is everything okay?' He asked sleepily. He'd lied, he was exhausted and he knew that Sherlock had seen through it. He was surprised when Sherlock gave him a sympathetic smile in response, he was quiet for a moment.

'May I... sit with you?' he asked quietly.

'Of course you can' John smiled, confused. He returned to watching the program that was playing on the television. He had no idea what it was, the one he had been watching had finished while he was asleep. He had expected Sherlock to sit in his armchair, but instead he sat himself next to John, on the couch. John looked over at him in confusion, immediately regretting doing so as he knew Sherlock would take it the wrong way.

'Ahhh... sorry.. I'll' Sherlock began to say as he got up from his spot on the couch, before John placed a hand on his lap, forcing him to sit back down.

'Why are you sorry? You can sit next to me Sherlock, I don't mind company.' He smiled.

Sherlock nodded, then looked down at his lap. John looked down, realizing that he had not yet moved his hand away from Sherlock's knee. He was about to move it away, before Sherlock delicately placed his hand atop John's, his focus fixed on the television. John looked at their hands for a moment, he didn't really know what to make of this act of closeness by Sherlock.

Sherlock was happy that John had accepted his movement, but worried that John felt uncomfortable. He silently assured himself that that if John had been uncomfortable, he would simply move his hand away, which he had not done.

A silence ensued as the two men both fought within themselves to comprehend their feelings. Sherlock now felt sure of his emotions, for the first time in his life. For so many years he had buried himself in his work so as not to deal with relationships, what he considered to be useless, tedious wastes of time. John however, had become a part of his work, making it impossible for Sherlock to not investigate his feelings. Now he was trying to deduce the best possible plan of action to make John aware, just how much he meant to him. His mind told him that it was illogical to simply tell John, but he knew of no other way to get the message across without being blatantly obvious. So he had decided to take small steps in his approach, and deduce how John reacted to them.

John Watson had always been so confident in his ability to comprehend his emotions and let them lead him to make the right decisions, but now he sat next to a man he considered his friend, hand in hand. Yet he did not feel uncomfortable or embarrassed, it actually felt nice, right even. He was confused and this made him uneasy. What did he really feel for Sherlock Holmes? At first he had simply been in awe of the intelligence and mystery that surrounded him. He had noticed many a time, other people around Sherlock, feeling inadequate at the sheer intensity of his intelligence, and the awe inspiring persona that enveloped it. He had never felt this way, he knew that there was more to Sherlock Holmes than his brilliant deductions, and he had been certain from day one that he would find out what else lay hidden away behind his persona. He was drawn to him, Sherlock helped him deal with the reality of the boring necessities of everyday life after craving what he so dearly missed from his days as an army doctor. He accepted Sherlock and he knew that he accepted him too, now more than ever he judged, from his recent bouts of affection. He now felt however, that his initial mutual understanding and awe of Sherlock had developed to something deeper, more meaningful, yet terrifying to him.

Sherlock soon broke the silence, to John's relief, he was thinking into the situation too much, and he hoped that Sherlock would clear the air a bit. He moved his hand away from John's and sat facing him, his long legs crossed.

'What does it mean John?' He asked, his voice hushed compared to his normal smooth, deep tone. He looked at John, waiting.

'I'm not sure what you are talking about.' John said.

'Love. What does it mean? What does it mean for someone to be in love with another?' He asked.

'Well Sherlock, I think that being in love means that you accept another person for who they are, and you look after them, protect them and want to make them happy.'

'Is that all?' Sherlock said, head cocked to the side slightly, his brow crinkled.

'I believe so, yeah. There might be more to it, once you find that one person. But I think they are the fundamentals of it.' He smiled. Sherlock smiled at him, he no longer looked confused, instead he had the same look of self appreciation he usually got when solving a case.

'Well then I think that must be it.' He said.

'What?' John asked.

'I am almost certain John, that I love you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I know it is cruel of me to leave it there, but things will work out for them soon, I promise :)  
> If you would like to leave me a review, it would be greatly appreciated! ^.^


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